


Danse du Diable

by orphan_account



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Graphic Description, M/M, Nightmares, seriously it gets dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 05:30:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4775450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mercutio fights against the nightmares in his head while Benvolio fights to wake him up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Danse du Diable

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for: lot's of stuff. Seriously, guys. If you have a problem with horror imagery or graphic descriptions, go no further because this isn't a lighthearted one. Mercutio has hella nightmares.

In his dreams, the demons danced.

Maybe it was symbolic of him always having hated cymbal music that this was the very soundtrack they chose; a whirling, chaotic cacophony of sound and sight, spinning around the corrupted ballroom like a hurricane. They danced in pairs, long tattered dresses and torn suits; some burned as they moved, fire whipping from their hair and blistering their skin, flying behind them in their villainous waltz. He was close enough to touch them, though for some miraculous reason he knew they weren’t aware of him (for now). Just by reaching out, he could caress the flesh rotting off black bones, he could even grasp hold of the strains of chaotic music floating in the air.

He closed his eyes, because he didn’t want to see the way the demons’ eyes glanced over him again and again; whether they could see him or not, it was still terrifying to think that he could be discovered at any moment. If he was discovered, he knew, he would die.

He had to get out of there.

He couldn’t see a door; maybe there wasn’t one. In sheer desperation he charged his way into the dancers, ignoring the suddenly suffocating smell of smoke and the flames that barely licked his skin. He dodged various figures, praying beyond all hope that they wouldn’t be able to detect his presence- but the deeper he got into the ballroom, the farther away the other side seemed. This wasn’t good; he needed to leave, before he was found, before they hurt him, before he-

There was no time to react when suddenly a lone dancer seized hold of his arms, pulling him into the hectic dance as well; he involuntarily let out a cry, trying to pull away as the flesh on his hands began to rot, but he could not escape the vice-like grip. Looking into the decaying face of his new partner, he recognized it as one he almost knew- maybe, long ago, he might have truly recognized him, might have ever been glad to see someone familiar. But there was no sign of who was once Tybalt in the dramatically changed ghost before him; and Mercutio could tell by the way the other’s still coal-black eyes glazed over him that he still didn’t really see him. Maybe it wasn’t too late, he wondered, even as he could feel the flames begin to lick his back…

He spun off again, switching partners in an instant, and this time it was a corrupted version of Romeo who seized his arms. His old friend’s head hung low on his shoulders, his hair matted in his face; the life that Mercutio had so long admired in the other boy had all but burned out. He half-choked out the other boy’s name, but for all Romeo heard him he might have not spoken at all. Suddenly Mercutio’s feet were no longer touching the ground; he was gliding, he realized, just like the rest of the spirits, and the pure shock of that realization made him let out a cry and tear himself away. When he looked down, his shoes were gone, his pants were in tatters, and his bare feet seemed to be covered in filth or something else. He hardly had a chance to register this shock before he was snatched up in dance again.

This time it was a girl, a girl he still recognized, if only vaguely. Tybalt’s cousin, Juliet, whose long dark hair was now only half clinging to her skull. Juliet’s eyes, a glazed milky white, were now fixed solely on him, and Mercutio felt his blood run cold. She saw him, he knew… _she saw him._

_No, no, please god, this can’t be happening, no…_

Juliet reached a hand out to cup his cheek, and Mercutio could see his hair turning white in the corner of his eye. He tried to recoil but he could no longer move, paralyzed as the dance swept him closer and closer to the center of the room. A soft whimper escaped parted lips as he tried desperately to regain any control over his body, but there was none to be had; even as partners switched again, and he found himself in the arms of what may once have been his cousin Paris, he still had no control over himself.

Paris didn’t dance; he jerked him to a stop in the center of the room, and around them all the other whirling couples froze as well. They all formed a circle, around a great pillar set up in the center of the room- a pillar on which something was standing.

Mercutio didn’t know what it was, but it was massive and tall and just looking at it he knew- he knew that it knew he was there, and what’s more he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this thing wanted to hurt him. It was the most ghastly creature he had ever seen, and yet somehow it was beautiful in its frightfulness; he almost closed his eyes, so as not to have to look, but then in an instant the thing’s eyes locked on him and his stomach dropped.

“No…” His lips could work again as he stared at the one the creature now held up by the arm. “No!”

Unlike everyone else, the boy in the creature’s grip was wholly uncorrupted; his skin was pure, his hair was the same solid color it had always been, and he flailed and kicked as he was dangled high above the ground. His face- Benvolio’s face, Valentine’s face, both of them at once and Mercutio couldn’t even tell whether he was looking at his brother or his boyfriend anymore- was a mask of terror, and he searched the crowd somewhat desperately- as if saying, screaming where words could not, _help me._

_“No!”_

Mercutio knew what was going to happen a second before the boy was flung into the crowd, and all at once the demons began to rip into him. Immediately he began to fight his way forward, desperate to reach his friend, his brother, before anyone else could hurt him; but there was no way for him to be fast enough. There wasn’t any blood; there was no gore. Just dust, golden dust, lots of golden dust spilling out from every wound. Within seconds, the boy was gone- there was just ashes in his place, and it dawned on Mercutio with horror that he had assisted in tearing him to pieces.

xXx

Any words he might have formed had devolved into senseless screaming, but Mercutio didn’t care- he was fighting, desperately, at arms pushing at his chest and gripping his shoulders, trying to restrain him. The world was dark, so dark that he couldn’t think straight or remember where he was, but there were hands on his arms and touching his face and someone was there in the dark with him.

He let out a wail, throwing himself to the edge of the bed and away from the grasping hands. He could hear a voice talking to him, but he was curled in on himself and refused to open his eyes. Even when he could see the light being switched on in the room, banishing the darkness with it’s warm golden glow. Even when hands were on his face again, soft and gentle as they caressed his hair. Even when he could suddenly feel lips-

Lips. Pressed to his.

He opened his eyes, and at once he knew why he was not alone. With a soft cry he threw himself forward into Benvolio’s arms, the other boy’s warm embrace immediately wrapping around him. He pressed his face against the other boy’s soft shoulder, inhaling his familiar scent; and he felt _safe_ , even though the images were still tearing apart his brain. Benvolio was here, his Benvolio; good, kind, bright Benvolio. Benvolio was the light, and he wasn't alone anymore.

“It’s okay,” Benvolio was whispering in his ear. “It was just a dream. I’m here. I’m here. I won’t leave you. I’m right here.”

“Please,” Mercutio whimpered against the other boy’s shoulder. “Don’t leave me.”

“Never.” Benvolio’s reply was instant and firm. “ _Never._ Don’t even think of it.”

It took a while before Mercutio was willing to lie down again; Benvolio stayed with him the entire time, his gentle voice gradually lulling Mercutio back into calmness, the sight of him well and alive and whole reminding Mercutio that it really had been just a dream. His hands slowly ran their way through Mercutio’s tangled hair as, eventually, the frightened boy was able to lie down again. Benvolio’s chest was reassuring and warm, cradling his head like a pillow, and Mercutio was able to feel at peace as he lay there.

Benvolio was humming, softly; the rhythm made his body vibrate slightly, the sound echoing in his chest as Mercutio pressed his ear against the other boy’s skin. He closed his eyes but abruptly opened them once more, not trusting himself not to fall asleep again; it was only the feeling of Benvolio’s finger slowly tracing its way along his face that kept his body relaxed and made him lean deeper into the other boy’s embrace.

“When I was little,” Benvolio’s voice whispered in the darkness, “I had a pet bunny. I’ve told you about that, right?”

“His name was Mister Carrots.” Mercutio was half-focused on the story and half-focused on the patterns slowly being traced over his cheek. “You did.”

Benvolio chuckled lightly. “Right. Well, I used to feel Mister Carrots every day- he was the cutest little thing, with these long floppy ears and little white tail, and the strongest legs you’d ever seen, my goodness- for a five year old, I was convinced I was in love. Anyway, I used to feed him every day, and one day I decided that his birthday also fell on my birthday. So I got the bright idea, let’s feed Mister Carrots cake.”

Mercutio let out a soft sigh and Benvolio continued, chuckling to himself. “My mom was barely able to stop me before I dumped an entire piece of cake in Mister Carrots’s food bowl!”

Benvolio continued to talk, weaving little anecdotes and recalling memories of things they had done, and Mercutio was at peace listening; quietly, silently, allowing the words to wash over him and banish the terrors his mind could come up with. Slowly, he felt at peace once again, and the image from his dream were pushed to the back of his mind.


End file.
